Servus, Detective,

So, you have found me.

I must admit, I had hoped you would. Not out of vanity, but out of necessity. A case like this does not forgive hesitation, and I began to sense, days before I vanished, that I was no longer the one asking questions... but the one being watched.

At first it was nothing more than a feeling. A shadow lingering a second too long. A presence that did not belong. You know the kind. The sort that crawls under your skin and refuses to leave, no matter how rationally you try to dismiss it. Was I imagining it? Fatigue, perhaps? Or something far less innocent?

I chose not to take that risk.

You will have noticed by now that my notes stop short of a conclusion. That is not due to lack of certainty, but rather lack of time. I came too close, I suspect. Close enough to make someone nervous. Close enough to force my hand.

So I disappeared.

But I did not leave empty-handed.

Before I went into hiding, I retraced the path of our suspect. Slowly. Methodically. Every step, every movement, every detail that others would overlook. And there, in the quiet repetition of it all, something revealed itself. Something small, almost insignificant at first glance... yet impossible to ignore once seen.

The perpetrator is right-handed.

Think about that for a moment. Not as a trivial trait, but as a pattern. How does a right-handed person move when under pressure? Which hand do they favor when acting quickly, when acting instinctively? What does that tell you about the evidence you’ve gathered so far?

And more importantly... who does it exclude?

You now stand where I could not.

The village still whispers its secrets, though not willingly. Listen carefully. Question everything. And do not assume that what appears harmless truly is. I made that mistake once. I will not make it again.

Now the rest lies with you.

Good luck, Detective.